


Modus Operandi

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: M/M, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristoph realises that Phoenix is sneaking around behind his back with Miles.</p><p>And he plans to ruin something else in the disbarred attorney's life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modus Operandi

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Someone on the Kink Meme asked for:
> 
>  _I have this weird kink, and I don't really see it around much.  
>  Finger licking. Please someone write me a fic or send me a link to some recs, pairing doesn't matter although I prefer yaoi for this._
> 
> To make a long thread short, when asked for specific pairings, Anon suggested Kristoph/Miles, and the idea intrigued me so much that I had to give it a shot.

"I'm going out tonight."

 

Kristoph didn't request time out. There was nothing between them,  _really_ , they shouldn't have needed to talk to one another like that, but-- equal parts courteous and controlling, Kristoph would put his foot down every now and then, show him who was boss, that  _he_  had the ability to go out, to get laid, to do whatever he did-- and Phoenix no longer had that luxury. 

Thanks to fatherhood. Thanks to limited finances. Thanks to being a washed up has-been at thirty-four. Most of the time when he came out with gems like this, it didn't bother the former attorney; he'd look on and smile with a slight, mysterious smile as though he were fondly remembering days and nights from a different time and place which he was pleased to have moved on from. Every so often the look would annoy Kristoph; what was he so damned happy about,  _anyway_? He'd lost all but everything. Here he was, living in a dingy, crowded office, supporting someone else's weird, emotionally unbalanced child, living off food stamps and whatever pittance he received at the Borscht Bowl, and he was  _smiling_  about it?

Kristoph knew that tonight, at least, the smile was only a mask. He'd seen the diary, noted Phoenix's tiny, ant-like handwriting which always looked so childish next to his own copperplate-- and the two words which somehow made his night out all the more enjoyable, his revenge plan all the more cruel. 

 _9pm; Borscht-- ME_

The initials could only belong to the one person who'd been on his mind since just before it all began. Miles Edgeworth. 

 

In a drunken, miserable confession, Phoenix had told him all about Miles-- well, enough for Kristoph to get a vague idea of the man. He'd certainly seen him before and heard the stories; he wouldn't have suspected he was Phoenix's type if the famed attorney hadn't blurted out that after the Eagle Mountain fiasco, he'd stupidly told the prosecutor he was in love with him-- and like a terrified deer, Miles had bolted into obscurity. Back to Germany for awhile, then over to Japan.

Kristoph did not know any more, but he had his suspicions. He didn't like the way Phoenix hadn't  _mentioned_  that he was seeing Miles; as though he was some kind of trump card kept held to his chest-- Phoenix wasn't meant to do that. Plain and simple, Phoenix was meant to obey him, to  _appreciate_  the one friend he had remaining after losing it all so gloriously. 

He wasn't meant to sneak around catching up with old lovers,  _cheating_  on him.

So Kristoph's night out served two purposes. On one hand, it was just another knife in Wright's back, another bitter cruel twist, a cog in the almighty machine which had already ruined his career and was still in operation ready to destroy every last shred of self-worth the man had; and on the other hand, it was punishment, it was the sort of thing regular lovers who cared enough to get jealous and possessive did: You keep secrets from me, I'll keep them from  _you_. 

It wasn't that Phoenix had no way out tonight; Trucy was at a sleep over somewhere, and unless he was already broke-- which was likely, actually-- he could have easily appeared at his workplace-- the workplace he'd taken a night off from especially-- to see his former flame. 

But both of them knew that Kristoph had been so kind and decent, had always made so few demands of Phoenix-- had been unconditionally  _there_  for him-- it ate away at Phoenix like acid. No, they weren't lovers. Not really. Their relationship had moved into the physical, but there was a coldness to it-- it wasn't the same as it had been with Miles-- but the former attorney wondered if what he was dealing with now was punishment for his own stupidity and fall from grace. Sometimes there was a sense of relief that came with feeling Kristoph on top of him, unaware of his own strength and capacity to cause pain while they were having sex-- it was putting his just desserts into a quantifiable, real setting, and he never complained. It was his fault. All of it. 

He'd been lucky that Kristoph Gavin had been such a good friend to him.

"I shan't be too long," Kristoph said casually, "If you  _like_ , I could take you out for some drinks at the Gatewater when I get back..."

Phoenix smiled. He'd never quite adjusted to the idea of someone else paying his way, and felt a strange pang of irritation yet sentimentality at the idea of Kristoph taking his feelings into account like that. And then he felt guilty-- no matter what Kristoph did, he knew he was never going to love him in the way he'd loved-- and  _still_  loved-- Miles. 

He couldn't bring himself to refuse the offer which had been made in generousity and kindness, and yet he felt a surge of irritation that the universe was conspiring against him like this. If he went out to meet up with Miles, he'd not return home, and he might upset Kristoph. Yet staying at home and waiting for him-- when Miles had called three weeks ago, finally ready to talk to him and hear about the disbarment-- when they'd  _arranged_  it-- he'd be missing out on seeing the former-- and possibly still current-- love of his life. He just wanted to explain, to talk, to hear Miles' side of the story, to find out what the man had been up to...

Yet he wasn't going to mention any of this to Kristoph. 

"Okay," he said. "That sounds great." He forced himself to smile for the other man's sake. "Have a good night," he said, with a cheerfulness that sounded sickeningly sweet and entirely manufactured to him.

 

 

* * *

 

It was almost heart-warming that Miles Edgeworth was early, Kristoph thought. He still looked as he had seven years ago; he still sported the same sort of haircut, though the fringe seemed less over-the-top and somehow quieter and more dignified, and a few lines had made their way onto his face-- probably due to the man's propensity towards stress and workaholism. He wore his trademark suit-and-cravat, and when Kristoph first noticed him, he was looking at his watch, worried-- the white rabbit who was late for a very important date. It was amusing how alike he and Phoenix were, both having that tendency towards guilt and self-blame when they weren't responsible for whatever had befallen them. Of course, Phoenix blaming himself was cleverly orchestrated.

Edgeworth would be putty in his hands. 

"Waiting for someone?" The lighting at the Borscht Bowl was dim-- Kristoph had long suspected that was so the patrons could avoid looking too carefully at the food they were eating-- but he could clearly make out the expression on Edgeworth's face.

"I was, actually." He seemed grateful for a friendly face and some conversation, the way a tourist does. He wasn't a tourist, but having been out of the country for so long had made him a stranger. 

He looked embarrassed, as though he were expecting to be told "No idea,"-- but continued anyway, a desperation in his voice that Kristoph could definitely make out even over the background noise of other patrons dining and cutlery clinking and the piano player replacing Phoenix. "He works here," he said.

"Ahhh..." Kristoph had to avoid smiling. Something in his brain had shifted; this was going to be  _fun_  of the most delicious kind. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he blinked, wide-eyed and innocent. "Who would that be, now?" he asked. "I happen to frequent this establishment a lot." 

"You don't look like a regular," Miles said. Like he was diverting from the topic, like he was somehow a tiny bit embarrassed that he was that hung up on someone who worked in a place like this. 

He was right, though: Kristoph Gavin in his powder-blue suit and designer frames and with the salon professional hair stylant and terminally aloof expression didn't seem the type to regularly visit a rowdy, seedy, poorly-lit restaurant where you could get a menu item for under ten dollars.

"I quite happen to be partial to the Borscht," he said smoothly. "I realise that cold soup mightn't appeal to everyone... but I really think it's best that way." He smiled at Miles, watching his face, amused by the curiousity and apprehension he was seeing. He chuckled. "Borscht: a dish best served cold," he continued. "They say the same about revenge, though, and I'm quite fond of that,  _too_." 

Miles laughed. Whether he was releasing tension or being polite, Kristoph couldn't ascertain, but he seemed to have put the an at ease. "So you were saying," he said, "That you were looking for someone here?"

"The piano player," Miles said quietly, his gaze turning in the direction of the old man who seemed to be bashing down on the keys haphazardly with no rhyme nor reason... nor rhythm. 

  
"This one?" Kristoph asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No... the regular piano player. Phoenix Wright." 

Kristoph noticed the way his face changed as he spoke his name. He sounded pained and remorseful.

"I know him," Kristoph said with a smile. "Crazy one, he is." He shook his head.

Miles smiled broadly, grateful and genuine. "Do you know where he is tonight?" he asked. 

"Absolutely no idea," Kristoph said with a shrug. "He's fairly unreliable."

Miles' forehead creased and he looked concerned. "That isn't the man I knew--  _know_ \--" he corrected himself. He looked thoughtful. "Did you know that he used to be a great lawyer? I never thought I'd hear him tell me he's working in a place like this."

"Yes," said Kristoph coolly. "I heard something about that."

"Oh?"

"I happen to be a defense attorney." 

"So was Phoe...  _Wright_." 

"So I heard," Kristoph said. "There was something about forged evidence, wasn't there?"

The look on Miles' face revealed something special. Evidently Phoenix hadn't told him about  _why_  he'd been disbarred. His mouth dropped open slightly, and his eyes were wide. "But Wright never would..." he started to say, and Kristoph shrugged casually. "I don't know much about it, really, but that's what I heard through the grapevine."

Miles looked deflated, and cast an anxious gaze towards the door.

"I should ring him and see what's happened." 

As if triggered, Kristoph touched his own, sleek mobile phone in his pocket, trying to hide another smile. It was testament to how intimately acquainted he was with Wright that he knew just how temperamental the man's phone was, that all you needed to do was unpeel the tape at one side of the back and the battery would no longer connect properly, rendering it useless. He doubted Phoenix would even notice a lack of phone calls, anyway; Trucy could always ring the landline if she needed anything.

"Mmmm." This was where Kristoph made his move. He waited patiently as a frantic Miles went through the motions; digging out an expensive-looking mobile phone from the inside of his jacket, flicking through the address book and calling Phoenix's number, his face growing more and more worried with every unanswered ring. 

"No answer?" Kristoph asked gently.

"No..." 

Miles looked concerned. "Can I ask you something, please?" he asked. 

"Certainly."

"Have you  _heard_  anything much about Phoenix? How _well_ do you know him?"

"Not extremely well," Kristoph offered. "I know he's been working here for a few years, that he's not the world's greatest pianist, and that he's got a teenage daughter..."

Miles obviously didn't know that, either. 

Kristoph blinked at his expression. "What?" he asked. "How well did  _you_  know Wright?"

  
"Quite well," Miles said quietly. "I thought."

"I'm sorry." Kristoph looked the part, twitchy and still, his eyes not quite meeting the other man's. He looked down at the tabletop, at Edgeworth's beautiful, pale long fingers. "Try ringing him again?" he asked.

Miles did. All the while Kristoph sat opposite him, studying him carefully, watching his hands and the increased look of concern growing on his face.

"I... I... you wouldn't know where he  _lives_ , would you?" Miles asked desperately. "I know it's a long shot," he added, "But if you know him that well..." 

"I'm afraid I don't," Kristoph said silkily, thinking about Phoenix sitting at home by himself, waiting like a stood-up date on prom night and resorting to grape juice and  _Steel Samurai_  reruns for distraction. 

"Oh." Miles looked miserable, and glanced around the restaurant. "I don't remember this place being here, years ago," he said. 

"Oh, it has been," Kristoph said smoothly. "It has a rich history, in fact."

Miles nodded glumly, a flicker of something running across his face for a second, then a look of utmost despair crossing him.

"I lost him again," he said.

"What was that?"

"Wright," he said, almost disbelieving. "I came so close to seeing him again and just... and this place and his defunct cell phone number were all I had left of him.""I'm sorry," Kristoph offered blankly. Any effort to pretend that he was truly lost for words-- when in actuality, he knew exactly what the next ones would be.

"I... came all the way from Japan just to see him... just to touch base. I didn't realise what had happened to him until recently..."

Kristoph nodded, and rested a leg under the table against Miles' own. Moving his calf ever-so-slightly, he rubbed against him softly. 

"...And when I first heard, I didn't know how to respond," Miles murmured. "I honestly feel like all this was my fault somehow." He rested his head in his hands and looked at the tabletop in front of him. 

"It wasn't," Kristoph offered gently, privately amused that he was telling the truth now, that the sincerity he offered here wasn't at all feigned. What was happening to Wright-- and by default, Miles-- was all  _his_  doing. 

"And here I am, stuck back here by myself and..." He trailed off before looking up at Kristoph pathetically. "I'm just so  _lonely_!" His anger and frustration surprised them both, and Kristoph gently reached out across the table to take his hand. 

"It's strange that circumstance brought us here together," he said, "What, with you looking for someone and knowing virtually no one else here-- and myself-- being in what seems to be the right--" he paused, biting down a chuckle at the pun he'd recognised-- "Place at the right time, but... if it makes you feel any better, I merely thought I'd say hello." God, he was good at sounding perfectly innocent. And an emotional Miles was so easy to play like an instrument, he was learning.

"You did?" 

He found himself wondering what would have happened if he'd been there only a few minutes later, or if Wright  _had_ shown up.

"Yes," Kristoph purred, now lightly stroking the pale skin and fingertips of Miles' hand-- "I noticed you from a distance." He smiled again. "I wondered why someone so attractive and with such beautiful hands was sitting here of all places by himself." He touched the soft skin of Miles' wrist gently. "Someone like you deserves better than to be stood up by a has-been like  _him_." 

"I just don't think he'd  _do_  that," Miles said, dejected, the hurt clearly obvious in his voice. "He sounded so excited on the phone."

"People are good at deceiving others, and lawyers can be particularly good at it." Kristoph smiled weakly. "You're not the only one looking at a lonely evening," he said. "Since I stopped drinking to excess, I've had a difficult time getting out and being able to socialise... that's why I like this place: they have a wonderful range of non-alcoholic beverages." He looked down at the tabletop too, and was surprised to feel Miles' hand in his own, his leg rubbing tentatively against him. This was going much better-- and faster-- than he'd anticipated. At this rate, he probably  _could_  take Phoenix out to the Gatewater for drinks afterwards. 

"You have my sympathy," Miles murmured. "I've been there myself." His voice was solemn and considering.

"Would you like to... spend the evening with me instead?" he asked. "I'd prefer to not return to a lonely, empty hotel room." It was such a miserable and innocent-- and thoroughly desperate statement.

  
"Where are you staying?" Kristoph asked, his touch now much more brazen and obvious. 

"The Penthouse at the Gatewater," Miles admitted. He laughed, self-depreciatively. "I paid a fortune to secure that room. It really isn't a single person's suite."

Kristoph smirked knowingly, thoroughly amused by the crossover between the two men he'd been dealing with this evening. Had Miles  _really_  gone to such effort for  _Phoenix_? He thought of him then, with the cynical but still-warm, hapless smile, the turquoise beanie and the sometimes confused expression on his face when life seemed hellbent on kicking him hard in the shins. Oh, it was beautiful. 

Suddenly Miles' expression mirrored his own. "I'm usually not this forward," he admitted coyly. 

"I'm not usually one to talk to strangers," Kristoph said, his smile broadening. "Though I'm glad I did on this occasion... and... it would be a shame to waste such a wonderful room." 

"It  _would_." Miles' eyes now stated the obvious, and it was only a moment later and he'd stood up. He watched as the other man also stood, and smiled again. 

"Shall we?" he asked.

 

Kristoph had heard about Miles since he'd started talking to Phoenix. The way the other man spoke of him, it was like he was a  _god_ , like he could do no wrong, like he was perfect in every way imaginable.

Feeling him pushed up against the mirrored panel of the elevator, he was starting to understand at least one of the things Phoenix saw in him, and he felt a smug sense of satisfaction at this being yet another thing in the disbarred attorney's life that he was getting to warp and invade and...

Their heavy breathing and frantic struggle was interrupted by the  _ping_  of the elevator as the doors opened. 

"I feel like a senior on prom night," Miles said with a nervous laugh. Kristoph smirked, thoroughly amused and pleased with himself. Miles had been strangely demonstrative the moment the elevator doors had closed behind them; his touch wasn't the shy, soft movement Kristoph had assumed he was going to receive, the way  _Phoenix_  had sometimes mentioned he moved; he'd grabbed frantically and hungrily at him, as though he'd been waiting for this moment, for another body against him, maybe for a matter of months. Years even.

Perhaps he had. Perhaps this, like the hotel room, had really all been intended for Wright.

As the door clicked open, he studied the room awaiting him. There was another trick up his sleeve, another surprise to be had for all, but in the moment now, he just planned on taking advantage of what he could get here and now. Phoenix had chuckled about Miles' stamina in the bedroom before, about how he seemed to stretch time out when they... _made love_ \-- but for the moment, drunk on power and the thrill of the chase-- and the bigger thrill of imagining Phoenix's face further down the track-- he just wanted to explore this new body, to relieve some tension, to ultimately  _let go_.

He pushed Miles towards the bed, murmuring something about wanting to see what was under the suit; and he felt Miles' lips against his own, his moist, insistent tongue delving into his mouth as they struggled out of their clothes. He was surprised at how solid Miles was beneath the suit, and he marveled at the man's perfect alabaster skin which trembled at his touch. 

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" he asked softly.

"Yes," murmured Miles, reaching up to gently remove Kristoph's glasses. 

  
Kristoph ordinarily didn't  _like_  people putting their hands near his face, but obliged, interested as to what Miles would do next. He chuckled lightly as Miles pulled him to the bed, again not used to being manoeuvered so forcefully, and wondered to himself--  _Is this how he was with Wright?_  Naked from the waist up, he loosened his belt, pushing his pants down, waiting for Miles to catch up with him and offer the blowjob that was  _meant_  to be lavished on Phoenix. He thought about Phoenix, back in his shabby little office-cum-apartment, probably checking the clock now-- and his erection strained against the fabric of his underwear.

He was almost losing himself, fuelled by the sensation of a naked and horny Miles running his hands over him, murmuring to himself, and fantasy. If only he'd thought to film it and... 

"Wait," Miles murmured, aware of what he wanted. "I'll get to that." It was almost touching, the way he seemed to be lavishing such... sweetness on him even though it was obvious he was practically leaping out if his skin.

He felt an arm pull him closer, and hold him against his chest. "I just want you... here... like this."

Was this how he spoke to Phoenix? Kristoph's initial thought had been to give Miles a night he wouldn't forget in a hurry, and afterwards, to reveal that he knew Phoenix much more intimately than Miles cared to imagine, and to possibly plant the idea in his head that this entire setup had been a sick joke on the disbarred attorney's part. 

But something caused him to change his tactic; perhaps it was the way Miles' hands ran over him, lavishing attention on his body for no other reason than that it was his and that he felt  _good_ ; perhaps it was that he knew that sometimes subtlety could cut much deeper and more painfully than outright cruelty. He lay back, letting Miles take control, feeling soft hands running over his chest in an almost chaste, non-sexual manner. Was this what Phoenix was used to? Such... gentle, almost innocent foreplay?

He thought about the man  _he_  was used to as Miles brushed over a nipple, leaning down to kiss him softly, leaving traces of saliva against his skin. Phoenix certainly didn't get this treatment; Phoenix writhed and heaved and pushed; when  _they_  had sex, it was a struggle for dominance, usually ending in Phoenix giving in either through exhaustion or eventual frustration. Lifting his head to kiss Miles, Kristoph wondered if Phoenix just  _let_  him take control, and felt jealousy running through him. Why didn't  _he_  get that? He opened his mouth to Miles' kiss, and lay there, trying to imagine what Phoenix would do in this situation, what little sexual trademarks the man had. 

It started coming to him; it was weird trying to work it out from another angle, like watching yourself on closed circuit television footage. He reached out for Miles' hand, removing it from his waist, and brought it towards his face.

"I said you had beautiful hands," he murmured softly, studying them. He was right in his assessment; Miles took good care of himself, and his hands were no exception. Probably manicured, he noted, wondering if his fascination was similar to Phoenix's. 

As though trying to impersonate the man, he held Miles' hand at the palm, turning it slightly, so the back of his hand met his lips. 

He could feel something change within Miles then, a stiffness in his flesh, like he was holding his breath. Offering a coy smile and a come-hither flash of blue eyes, he kissed the back of his hand softly, gently running a finger over his skin. 

Miles seemed to stiffen some more, and Kristoph smiled, opening his mouth slightly, and running his upper lip down Miles' knuckles, kissing down his index finger, making his way down to the tip and then taking it in his mouth.

Miles groaned quietly, almost hesitant, yet not quite pulling away-- as though he  _couldn't_ , and could only just watch, wide-eyed and wanting, as Kristoph gently sucked on his finger with a languid, soft rhythm.

He blinked at the other man, momentarily surprised at the reaction, as he moved his mouth slightly, readying himself to take another finger. 

He was coy and controlled and far too good at this, Miles thought, and it was alarming... but he certainly couldn't tell this strangely familiar, beautiful blonde stranger  _why_. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned back as the man pushed him into the mattress roughly and his lips accepted a second finger, a look of utmost desire on his face, as though he were performing some incredibly lewd, sexual act upon the dark-haired lawyer.

Miles moaned softly, his other hand shifting to his stiffening cock. 

Opening his mouth slightly, and drawing away from Miles' fingers, Kristoph playfully licked the underside of his fingers, running his lips along the tips, kissing them softly. Hearing Miles moan again, this time more insistently, Kristoph used one hand to hold him against the mattress, and allowed the other to playfully move down his torso, exploring the vast expanse of naked skin. He paused at a nipple, flicking and pinching for one playful moment, chuckling softly to himself as Miles gasped as the unexpectedness, before shifting his hand lower; caressing his abdomen for a moment and then moving down to ghost over his cock, barely touching it.

"Please," Miles murmured. "You... can." He could feel Kristoph's fingers brushing over his pubic hair, almost tickling.

"No," said the blonde was a devious smirk. "I'm drawing this out for you." 

Miles writhed against the mattress. "Can I...?" he asked, trying to pull Kristoph's partially-clothed body towards his own.

"No." He chuckled. " _I'll_  say when I come," he said. "And when  _you_  do, too."Miles felt himself stiffen against the mattress, a horrible sense of cold and _de ja vu_ running over him at those words. The way the man moved, the way he touched him... the thing with the  _fingers_ \-- and he'd now gone back to caressing them, licking them one by one, slowly, as though cleaning them-- or savouring a number of popsicles in succession-- and now those words... it was all too horribly familiar to him.

He'd wondered, once, what it would be like to have sex with himself, he even remembered laughing about the concept with Phoenix, who'd brushed his fringe back before making some joke about how Miles wouldn't give himself the time of day because he had such horrible self-worth. They'd playfully argued about it, the argument somehow turning to the kind of physical one where Wright eventually had his ankles around Miles' neck and was panting his name out like a kind of mantra. 

Prior to Phoenix, he'd had very few sexual encounters; there'd been foolings-around with a few insignificants in his teenage years, a rather passionless and cerebral partnership with a senior lecturer in college, a few bizarre scenarios involving lots of alcohol and experimenting with classmates-- but before he'd run into Phoenix again, sex was _nice_ , but it seemed somewhat pointless. Often hurried; a few strokes here and murmurs there, and it was all over and he was cleaning up a wet patch and disposing of the evidence.

It wasn't that Phoenix had taught him to enjoy sex-- he'd never  _not_  enjoyed it, but the pre-Wright encounters had been quick and impersonal and furtive-- functional and pleasant-- but almost mechanical, with a plain indistinguishable sense about them. 

Phoenix had shown him there was nothing wrong with taking a little  _time_ , savouring the moments, enjoying the reactions. And Miles had realised how much fun that could be, warming to it with immense enthusiasm.

  
That's why he'd frozen, despite the body and the ministrations of the beautiful well-dressed man on top of him, the fact that he seemed to have the same tendency to pay attention to the little details-- like just how sexy an  _expression_ could be when you were lazily drawing someone else's fingers in and out of your mouth, running your tongue up and down them like trying to eat five melting popsicles in a row-- or like that time Phoenix had given him the blindfold and uttered  _Surprise me_  one rather ordinary evening-- that Miles had come to enjoy and love teasing Wright with.

He couldn't help but smile at the thought as he felt Kristoph's warm lips sucking on his pinky. It was equal parts horrible and arousing: horrible in that  _Twilight Zone_  kind of way where he realised that something was  _wrong_ \-- that this man seemed so good at what he was doing that it was like he could read his mind.

And yet it was deliciously arousing, almost perfect-- he knew exactly what he liked. And he was indulging him, too, expecting him to lie back and enjoy rather than to do much himself.

  
The comment changed all that. Wright had gifted him with the knowledge that there was little more he enjoyed than watching his partner writhe about, aroused and frustrated and  _wanting_... yet  _not_. With the right level of pressure and subtlety and imagination, you could keep someone hanging like that, beautiful and aching and spellbound-- for  _hours_.

The drawing out of it... was _his_. The finger sucking... was Wright's little trademark.

"Stop," he murmured, his breath escaping in short bursts, his cock betraying him, stiff and close to leaking.

Kristoph put a hand to Miles', slowly taking him by the wrist and withdrawing his fingers from his mouth.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he asked innocently, a smooth cool smile on his face, his eyes carefully watching Miles' eyes.

"Godyou'reperfect," he murmured.

"Stop... it..." Miles said with a weak shudder.

He saw Kristoph nod before feeling hands grip his shoulders and twist him around so his chest was now pushed into the mattress. Maybe Kristoph assumed that he didn't want any pussyfooting around-- but maybe Kristoph  _couldn't_ read his mind any more because Wright seemed to instinctively know that  _he_  always had to be the one in control... because it didn't work otherwise."Whatever do you mean?" Kristoph leaned against him. "I was distinctly under the impression that you were enjoying yourself."

"I... was-- _am_." Miles spoke in a final, determined manner. He couldn't deny that he was enjoying himself, but something was  _wrong_. It had a sickly familiar sense about it which he couldn't understand, and yet...

He felt lips pressing against the back of his neck, in that sensitive spot, the spot that made him twist to the side, groaning and helpless and wanting more. How did this man know about  _that_? Even  _he_  didn't know about that one... until Phoenix had come along...

"One moment." He felt his partner's weight disappear, as Kristoph moved off him to rummage through the bedside table next to them. Gasping and feeling utterly treacherous-- how could he be  _doing_  this when he was meant to have been meeting  _Phoenix_  tonight?-- and when this resembled so closely what he had been hoping for?-- he remained on the bed. He knew precisely what the blonde was doing. But...

"Wait a minute," he said, sitting up, a sense of vulnerability coming over him. 

Kristoph looked at him, his body careful and calm, his eyes blazing with a maddening hunger. "What?" he asked.

"I... I'd prefer it if our positions were reversed."

Why on  _earth_  was he not telling him to stop altogether? Because he was lonely. Because the body of the man sitting in front of him was wanting it as much as he did, because he was beautiful and because it had been an awfully long time since Miles had  _had_  the time to relax and let go and enjoy something so utterly indulgent. And because whether he knew it or not-- and there was no way he could-- this man was so entirely perfect at what he was doing. 

Kristoph chuckled to himself. There were ways to break a man-- ultimately, the most satisfying one was to do so when the other person had been lulled into a comfort zone, where you were the last person they expected to betray you. Of course, this situation wasn't a matter of life and death; it was simple-- Kristoph already knew that by the evening's end, it would be all over-- that Wright wouldn't be the only casualty here, that his plan to slowly infect, override and ultimately ruin the man's life came with the side bonus of destroying the famed Demon Prosecutor's as well.

He wasn't even sure if Edgeworth knew who he  _was_. That alone was an insult-- one for which he'd pay dearly. 

"If you say so." His voice was playful; he didn't seem to mind what Miles was proposing-- which came as a surprise after the way he'd taken control earlier. He leaned forwards and kissed playfully at Miles' throat. "I want to see your face, though," he said. 

 _And I want you to see mine._

Miles shouldn't have felt a wave of apprehension rushing over him then, but he did. It was only when the other man mentioned the prospect of looking him in the eye while he fucked him that he realised it wasn't such a great idea. Guiltily, he realised what he'd be doing otherwise-- closing his eyes and imagining that it was Wright underneath him, somehow managing to ignore the solidness of this man and the longer legs, the slender, longer feet and the distinct lack of body hair. He was stunning, and he was good at what he did, but he wasn't Phoenix.

But that could be ignored, he reasoned. They could both get off and think nothing of it-- if Miles didn't have to look at him. 

Miles tried another tactic. "On second thoughts," he murmured, his voice rounding out into a coy almost-taunt-- "Maybe I'm intensely curious." He leaned in towards Kristoph, returning his quick kiss, his hand drifting to the man's cock. 

"About what?" Thrusting his hips forwards and leaning back, he could have passed for a statue. That would have been, if he weren't murmuring with delight to himself and urging Miles to continue stroking him. 

"About...  _you_." Miles could feel his cock growing stiffer and wetter in his hand, and Kristoph's hips bucking against him gently. It was astonishing how someone so seemingly straight-laced could turn into  _this_.

He lowered his voice, desperate to disguise his embarrassment at having to ask such a crass question. "You want to... fuck me... don't you?" he asked.

Kristoph smirked, his eyes hungry as Miles asked him the question. He bit back a chuckle and nodded. "Yes," he said, "I would like that very much." As if to drive the point home, he ran a hand across Miles' backside, his smirk growing. 

  
Miles could feel his own body tense uneasily. It wasn't that he didn't know what to expect-- part of the issue was that he  _did_. He'd remembered messy little one night stands and random encounters where he'd been in that position before, and while he hadn't entirely not enjoyed it, there'd been a level of carelessness from the other party, an almost humiliation on his own part, and a distinct sense that he'd been  _used_  afterwards.

With Phoenix it had been different. The defense attorney hadn't expected nor pushed nor tried to  _force_  anything, and on the very few occasions Miles had allowed himself to be taken by the man, it had been an  _experience_ ; Phoenix was cautious and gentle and concerned.

  
There was a roughness to Kristoph, an arrogance which somehow made him painfully attractive, and yet also suggested danger and carelessness. It seemed to be a cruel joke from the universe that he appeared so aware of the details, so delicate and soft as Phoenix could be-- and yet, here he was...

"Don't you do it very often?" Kristoph murmured against Miles.

He felt his skin heating with embarrassment, like he'd just told the man that he was a  _virgin_  or something. And then there was the idea that he was giving up a part of himself, a usual role; he was putting himself at the mercy of a complete stranger-- just because he seemed so like Phoenix-- and a part of him knew that he was going to be disappointed, that no matter how hard he hoped the man drawing well-manicured fingers over his skin and murmuring hot, desperate nothings near his ear-- _could_ be Phoenix-- he wasn't going to be. 

He felt guilty that he couldn't just enjoy the man for what he was, even though when he closed his eyes, the body caressing his own was slightly thinner and less defined, the hair was shorter and dark and spiky, and the voice wasn't as high and husky. 

The man  _did_  seem to be taking his time, however-- Miles felt himself relax slightly as he felt his fingertips brush over him again, and the blonde lean down and return to sucking his own fingers. He murmured quietly, then felt a shift; the other man was leaning over, there was the unmistakable  _clip_  of a bottle being flipped open, and then the coolness of lubricant applied against him. That Kristoph had managed to  _find_  it through their foreplay was a skill in itself, without missing a touch or a gasp or  _anything_.

Miles hated himself for subconsciously comparing him to Phoenix. His former beau had an innocence to him, an almost-clumsiness sometimes. His mind superimposed typical Phoenix over the reality, the pausing, the sudden cold air against his skin as the defense moved off him, offering a quick " _Hold it!"_  as he went to grab lube or condoms. Everything about  _this_  man was perfectly in time, like he damn well knew what he was doing and had done so many times before. And he seemed to want so little in return, too, he was, in a way, allowing Miles to take control. 

Miles froze, the twitches and gasps stopping for a second. He felt Kristoph registering it and the man's voice in his ear, long hair dangling behind his neck, tickling him slightly.

"Is something the matter?" Kristoph purred. "I'm not going to hurt you..."

Miles attempted to sit up.

"You're not...?" he started asking. How to word it without being offensive? He'd met a strange, gorgeous man who was intent on giving him a night of pleasure in a bar. The man seemed to only be concerned about  _his_  enjoyment of the encounter.

"The devil himself?" the blonde asked with a smirk. "I  _have_  been accused of it, though I'll assure you I am not." He chuckled and his fingers returned to moving deftly over Miles' body. 

"No... you're not... a  _professional_ , are you?" asked Miles. 

"I am," Kristoph said, thoroughly amused. "I'm a licensed, practising defense attorney." Inside, he seethed. That Miles Edgeworth didn't know who he  _was_  disgusted him. He'd seek his revenge a few sweet moments later.

"All right." 

Kristoph felt Miles' body relax somewhat again under his touch. There'd been _almost_ -flattery in Miles' assumption that his touch, his  _ability_  was so good that he could command a high price for it-- but then again, Kristoph did everything  _perfectly_  and this was no exception. 

"Maybe you misjudge yourself," he said idly, running a finger down the base of the prosecutor's spine, stopping teasingly before the crevice of his ass. "Maybe there are plenty of people whom you attract who aren't just out there to take advantage of you..."

Not saying anything would be betrayal. It would also be rude, and a mood-killer, but Miles couldn't stop himself from slowly mumbling, "Wright was the only one." He flopped down into the mattress; mentioning him to the other man had been like admitting to himself that no matter what he imagined, no matter how good this mysterious defense attorney-- funny coincidence, that-- was-- he wasn't, and would never be Phoenix. He clamped his eyes shut, waiting, just wanting to get all this over and done with-- he felt drained and exhausted now, he felt guilty for trying to superimpose Phoenix onto this other man, and he felt stupid for having thought that Wright was going to not be angry with him, to welcome him back into his arms and bed as though nothing happened. 

"What's wrong?" Kristoph asked softly. Laying one hand over Miles' shoulder and rubbing him affectionately, he sighed. "You're not still thinking about  _him_ , are you?" He said it like it was so silly; so juvenile and angst-ridden, and Miles only felt worse when he did. 

He didn't reply. Longing to distract himself, he waited. He was suddenly painfully aware that the other man held all the power right now, and this was... ordinarily alarming. But in those moments; hearing himself say Wright's name like that, and then the gentle voice pointing out how incredibly  _stupid_  he was for still thinking about him-- he lay there, miserable and suddenly regretting the whole turn of events recently. He should have left sleeping dogs lie, left Phoenix to get on with his life.

As he felt the other man's finger move over him, prodding and insistent, he inhaled quietly. There wasn't any turning back now; stopping things at this point would leave them both unfulfilled and spending the rest of the night with a head full of  _what if_ s.

He could feel the blonde's lips on the back of his neck, warm and surprisingly gentle, taking their time with him. "I'll warn you," he said quietly, "If you're not used to this, it might be a little painful..."

And then Miles felt his finger move into him, slowly and softly and helped along by the ample amounts of lubricant the other man had applied earlier. "Is this all right?" he asked. There was a seriousness to the way he spoke, which to Miles, was distinctly  _romantic_ , like he  _cared_ , like he'd rather  _die_  than cause him even the slightest discomfort.

He could feel his body relaxing, melting into the body on top of him, as Kristoph's mouth made its way across his neck, over his cheek, and towards his lips-- 

" _Yes_ ," Miles hissed softly. Even Phoenix hadn't been this controlled and tentative, there had been a slightly giddy, almost puppylike enthusiasm when he initiated things.

He could feel--  _taste_ \-- Kristoph's breath against his lips, feel the heat of his words-- "Perhaps you'd like some more?" -- " _Yes_ "-- against his own before their lips locked and Miles felt the other man urging into him, deeper and still with surprising reverence.

His senses were overwhelmed. Everything felt hot and sticky, except the back of his legs where he could make out the irritatingly, almost-prickly fabric of Kristoph's slacks; everything else felt lush and moist and intoxicating. For some reason, the man's weight on top of him felt strangely reassuring and protective, and when he broke the kiss to adjust himself, Miles sighed in a state close to ecstasy.

"How shall I take you?" he asked. Calm and smooth, though a touch pleased with himself. Ordinarily, that level of cockiness would have bothered Miles, but now it was okay; he trusted this man, technique filled in all the mysteries and doubts he could have held about him.

Miles pushed himself upwards onto all fours. "Like this?" he asked. It was urgent and crude, but still, it held the promise of allowing the perfect stranger full access to as much of his body as possible. 

And he  _still_  didn't have to look at his face.

It wasn't that he disliked the man, it wasn't that he was unattractive: he just didn't  _know_  him, and the idea of trusting someone so implicitly whom he'd only shared a conversation and not even a drink with was still an unsettling thought. This somehow went beyond one-night-stand territory and into serious intimacy.

"If you say so," Kristoph murmured. He moved his free hand towards Miles' face as he pushed into him a little deeper-- "It just makes things a bit more awkward for me."

"How so?" Miles looked down at the fingers in front of him and was hit with the sudden realisation of just how perfect his hands looked. Like sculptures women used to display jewellery-- hadn't his mother had one of those when he was a child?-- pale and slender and smooth, the nails so perfectly shaped that they looked almost artificial. 

Was this his way of asking him to reciprocate? Slowly, he opened his mouth as Kristoph's fingertips brushed playfully against his bottom lip. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he was reminding himself that he'd never done this to Phoenix, even though Phoenix seemed to relish sucking on  _his_  fingers-- and he would have felt a pang of guilt if it weren't for the surprise of the second finger entering him. He murmured quietly.

"It does--" the other man said slyly, "Make this situation a little bit awkward for me." 

Miles murmured again. 

"And anyway... I'd like to see your face." 

The prosecutor couldn't answer immediately; he'd taken the tips of two of Kristoph's fingers into his mouth, and was holding them there gently, playfully, with his teeth. His tongue brushed along the very ends of them, and he could have sworn he felt the man atop him shudder slightly.

"I want to--" Kristoph seemed strangely lost for words as Miles opened his mouth slightly, drawing the two fingers further into his mouth to run his tongue along them-- "See what you look like when you come."

Miles was tempted to protest, to point out that expecting him to orgasm in such a position was asking too much. But it seemed unfair, a mood killer. The man was surprisingly, unexpectedly talented when it came to foreplay, perhaps there was a first for everything?-- 

"No," he said softly, pushing back against the other man's fingers-- "I need you... now."

"You've had a change of heart?" Kristoph stroked his index finger along Miles' bottom lip and chuckled to himself. "That was quick."

Miles merely murmured again as he could feel the intrusion of a third finger against his opening. 

"Are you...  _ready_?" he asked. He had the sudden awareness that the man had still been wearing his pants only a short while ago, that he'd never seen, let alone  _touched_  his cock. 

"Yes," Kristoph murmured, gently rocking his fingers into-- and out of-- him, enjoying the sway of Miles hips as they aimed for some kind of shared rhythm. "I've been ready for this for a  _long_  time." He pushed up closer to Miles to demonstrate the point, running his stiff, already dripping cock against the back of his thigh. He felt surprisingly soft-- and yet... solid. A beautiful contradiction. 

"Well..." Miles paused, giving brief consideration to the last time he'd had sex-- but this was closer to making  _love_ , oddly enough. His partners' filthy, desperate cries drove him wild, but it was rare for him to utter any-- let alone to beg or plead before things had actually  _started_ \- of his own. 

"Well  _what_?" Kristoph shuffled himself along, moving his hand away from Miles' mouth to rest between his legs. He very slightly stroked the prosecutor, smiling to himself. God, this was perfect. This was beautiful. He could understand the appeal that the man held now, wondering for the first time what it would be like to have both Miles and Wright under his spell  _in the same room_  and  _at the same time._

 _"I want you to fuck me," Miles said quietly, his voice even as though he was clinging to a last vestige of dignity.  _Until I can forget everything that came before.__

Kristoph didn't even reply. He leaned close to the prosecutor, breathing on the back of his neck softly. "When you ask like  _that_..." A low dark chuckle escaped him. "How long has it been?" he asked softly. "Since you've offered yourself like this to another man...?"

Was he  _smiling_? Probably. The frustrating thing was that Miles couldn't see and didn't know. He blinked, searching for a reflection, suddenly wanting to glimpse at the other man's face, wanting to see how he reacted. Something felt strangely...  _off_.

Then again, he knew that one of his sensitive spots had been hit:  _Wright_. He'd hardly been celibate since heading overseas and losing contact with--  _breaking contact with_ \-- he harshly reminded himself-- Wright-- but he'd not had the sort of sex that took time and patience and trust and a willingness to hand the reins to someone else.

The last time he'd done anything like that was with Phoenix, and being reminded of it  _now_ \-- was painful. 

"It's been awhile," he admitted.  _About as long as it's been since someone seemed to genuinely get off on sucking and licking my fingers and spending more time on paying attention to the details rather than the... main event, so to speak..._

"I think it's been too long," Kristoph said, running a hand through Miles' hair. He waved his hand towards the man's mouth again. "I'll fuck you," he said, almost negotiating-- "If you pay some extra attention to..." He didn't need to say any more; a warm, secure wetness had encased his fingers once again. 

"That's it," he purred, edging himself closer and closer to the prosecutor's ass. Miles could feel the head of his cock grace over him once more and he quivered-- or  _shuddered_ \-- he wasn't sure what he was doing any more-- and as if offering encouragement, worked his lips up Kristoph's fingers, taking them in to the knuckles.

Less than a moment later, he'd spat them out in shock as he felt a sharp, unexpected-but-not-quite pain as Kristoph, without warning, had slammed into him.

" _Jesus_!" he gasped.

Kristoph pushed his fingers towards his mouth. "What did I  _say_?" he asked, close to patient.

Miles opened his mouth again, willing his body to adjust, to accept, for some fucking  _movement_  to ease it; for things to become  _pleasant_  and enjoyable again. 

He waited for the other man's fingers to find his mouth, and, feeling almost  _ungrateful_ , and feeling awful about  _that_ \-- sucked on them gingerly. The man was lucky he hadn't been  _bitten_ , he thought to himself as he ran his lips over the first joint of Kristoph's index finger, twitching his lower body-- or trying to-- away from his. 

"What did I  _say_?" He was taunting him. He probably thought it was some kind of erotic power play thing, but it did nothing for Miles. He wasn't big on talking during sex; usually his mind was on other things. Afterwards, sometimes-- before-- well, he was a cerebral kind of person-- the gift of the gab had been known to work its magic on him before... 

" _Oohucfonorenghers_."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Kristoph murmured, sidling up to him, never losing that remarkable  _poise_ \-- and somehow managing to penetrate him even deeper. "It's  _rude_."

 _"Uffoo"_  Miles felt like saying-- he thought this was some kind of a  _joke_?-- but couldn't for some reason. There was a strange, chilling almost-danger about the other man, like he could read inside his head and only wanted to laugh-- and beyond Miles' own paranoia, there was the idea that maybe this really was just a power roleplay  _thing_  and his nerves and lack of adventure were destroying this talented, concerned, eager-to-please blonde's fantasies.

Kristoph had him where he wanted him. There was one thing missing; if he'd somehow managed to record this, it would have made a lovely home movie to share when he got home. 

But he hadn't been that well-prepared. Nonetheless, he was certainly enjoying the view, so to speak, from this angle. Miles' mouth felt wonderful around his fingers; he wondered just what  _else_  he could reintroduce to the other man, what other memories he could dredge up. In some ways, he thought, as he softly, lightly penetrated Miles, the whole situation was really only beginning. 

He heard the other man murmur, a choked, almost fearful noise.

"It's all right," he whispered huskily against Miles' skin. "You're doing  _very_  well." 

Miles didn't-- couldn't-- say anything in response. His mouth was full of fingers, and his tongue was busy with them-- and his head-- was still confused about the entire scenario unfolding around-- and against-- him. 

He felt the other man move deeper within him and another stifled moan try to emerge from his throat. 

"If I'd known I was going to be returning to a hotel room with you, I'd have come prepared," he mumbled. "Only..." His free hand traced down Miles' back, drawing over the sweat and skin, the fingernails sharp and yet acutely pleasurable.

Another one of Phoenix's tricks, but a pleasure they both enjoyed; for all their differences, Kristoph mused, Phoenix at least knew what you could do with well-tended fingernails. 

Miles shuddered.

"I don't really know what you'd like me to do with you." He removed his fingers from Miles' mouth. "You seem so tentative and uptight, yet..." He slowly pushed into the other man some more, and briefly stopped his monologue to hiss something about how tight he was. It was a quick, barely-considered response; far too reactive, but sometimes these things couldn't be helped. Phoenix had never given any indication that Miles enjoyed dirty talk, and he'd always said it made him feel cheap. Not that Kristoph intentionally remembered this during  _their_  lovemaking.

Miles didn't say anything, but gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as tightly as he could manage. In his mind, he longed for this to be Phoenix on top of him, Phoenix murmuring about how wonderful he felt, Phoenix eventually coming and kissing him and-- 

He was wrenched back to reality when Kristoph spoke. "...you appear to be such a  _slut_  when you're like this."

Phoenix never spoke to him like that. He'd attempted it once, but once he'd learned that it brought back unpleasant memories and associations, he'd stopped it. 

Miles felt himself freeze up and the other man's cock slip out of him unexpectedly.

"Now, now..." Kristoph stroked the side of his neck. "Relax..." He ran the tip of his tongue over the side of Miles' ear. "You wouldn't want me to accidentally hurt you, would you?"

  
It was horrible how  _sweet_  and almost musical his voice sounded, angelic and innocent and perfectly concerned and harmless. But there was a bite to it that Miles had suddenly become aware of, something he really didn't like, beyond the fact that it was bringing back terrible memories which he'd thought repression-- and then extensive therapy-- had taken care of. Apparently not. He tried to calm down, to relax, to fall into his touch and words and let it wash over him.

 

  
He remembered Phoenix, poor hapless and trying-something-new Phoenix, suggesting a particular scenario. He remembered not wanting to say anything, not thinking it would bother him too much initially, until it  _did_ , and sitting on the end of the bed, sobbing uncontrollably. He remembered Phoenix's arms holding him tightly, and then  _his_  tears and pleas, "GodI'msorrypleaseforgivemeshitIdidn'tknow," and his own stumbling reassurance, strangely calm-- "You didn't know because I never told you, Wright... just stay here, okay...?"-- and Phoenix holding and kissing him and for the first time in their blooming relationship, being the one who seemed in control. 

Kristoph was not like this, and there was no way in  _hell_  he was going to learn anything about his past. There was probably a likelihood that he didn't  _care_ , too, he reasoned, so he just closed switched off, willing his body to relax as Kristoph penetrated him again.

 

He gasped with the shock-- for such a tentative, careful bedmate, the other man certainly seemed rather brusque when it came to the actual  _sex_  part. And there was no gentle reassurance afterwards, either; Miles wondered if he just wasn't used to being in that position, if he were just playing at having a dominant position with an anonymous hotel pickup. 

Still, he thought, as Kristoph wrenched back quickly before slamming into him again, causing him to gasp again, in a kind of winded, horrified way-- the least he could do was offer some common  _empathy_. That was all.

"You like this, don't you?" Kristoph sounded extremely pleased with himself as he pushed into the prosecutor yet again, causing his body to slip along the bed's surface, and a deep moan to come from the darker haired man.

Miles said nothing. It was a horrible mess of contradiction now, and he was, completely lost for words. He wondered vaguely if Kristoph was going to do that  _other_  thing Phoenix would do; that teasing, drawn-out sex where he seemed to know  _just_  the point to stop at in order to prolong things. 

He suspected not as he felt another sharp, unexpected thrust into him.

"That... hurt," he murmured, wincing at the pain, embarrassed at having to say something, but preferring to speak up now. 

"Did it?" Kristoph asked. He sounded curious but indifferent, like a research scientist studying the effects of torture on someone. His voice changed then to an almost-whisper. "But you liked that, didn't you?"

 _Sort of. Well, earlier, at any rate_. He sighed to himself, wanting to adjust, wanting to move with him rather than feel at his mercy. 

He murmured, neither an agreement or argument; a murmur could have meant anything, it did when words would not work. 

He felt a hand at the back of his neck, fingers roughly moving through his hair, and then the almighty pain of his head being pulled back, and the horrible, damning comment which Miles wasn't sure was meant to have slipped out.

"Come on, right, take it..." That was almost enough to dull his senses and make him indifferent to the feeling of the blonde pushing into him again while wrenching his head back.

Was it  _right_  or was it  _Wright_  that he'd just said?  _Was_  this some completely messed up game of some sort, or was it just his own head playing tricks on him, obsessing over the man he'd never completely gotten over?

He suddenly found himself paying more attention to what the blonde was saying, desperate for any more clues or mentions which might be conclusive. He rocked back against the thrusts absently, his mind having taken over from his body, perfectly still and analytical. 

"Uuuurggh... that's it, right..."

Again. It seemed out of place, and Miles froze. 

"What was that?" he asked tentatively.

Kristoph giggled, combing his fringe out of his eyes. "What did you think I just said?"

"I thought you said...  _Wright_..."

"In what sense?"

Miles' blood ran cold as he realised he was going to verbalise his suspicions. Somehow knowing the reality-- the possibility that it  _could_  be a reality, was worse than just thinking it.

"In the sense of...  _Phoenix_  Wright."

Kristoph laughed out loud and thrust into him yet again, seemingly oblivious to the gasp escaping the prosecutor. " _Still_ thinking about him, are you?" he asked. The gentle curiousity was gone from his voice now. "I wonder if  _he's_  still thinking about  _you_."

Miles froze, only aware of the lack of movement a moment later, when he realised the one thing moving was Kristoph's hand, running through his hair. 

 _Just like Phoenix would do._  Only Phoenix would be murmuring, offering almost sweet, childish compliments--  _"God your hair is_ soft _... I could spend days just lying in bed with you, running my fingers through it and completely turning myself into mush over your_ hair _, Miles..."_  

He moaned again, doubting that the other man detected the distinctly sorrowful note, that he wasn't wanting casual anonymous sex any more, that he wanted  _Phoenix_ , that he wanted kisses and sweet nothings and conversation.

The pain that he no longer cared for him, or that he as angry enough to have stood him up like that, overtook him in that moment.

"Just fuck me," he grunted. "Hard. Fast."  _Take my mind off him_  was what he wasn't saying.

 

  
Kristoph took less than a moment to oblige, drawing back and then pushing into him harshly, his wet, sticky fingers grabbing Miles' hair and pulling him back violently, causing the man beneath him to groan in a confused muddle of pain, pleasure and surprise. 

There was no love in this act; it was about release and control, it was about doing something crazy and unexpected, and for Miles-- it was about despising himself for the chance he'd had and had let fall away.

 _What's he doing now?_

He felt the blonde press into him again, he felt warmth and moisture and pain and the sting of his hair being pulled much to tight; he felt a strange disembodied sense like he was watching the whole thing from somewhere else--  _I'm not real, this is not happening._

And then he heard a guttural moan above him, and felt himself pushed, released, down into the mattress, the sense of everything having pulled away bittersweet rather than a relief. Kristoph had clearly come somewhere in that moment; he himself hadn't. Maybe a few more moments later and he would have; maybe if his hotel pickup had bothered tending to his needs, things would have been different.

He lay on the mattress for a moment as he felt the weight above him shift, and the other man wordlessly pad through to the ensuite to shower. Damn his confidence. His arrogance. The fact that he honestly didn't seem to care underneath all the seductive effect.

He sighed, listening to the shower spray and hearing the hiss of water. 

 

  
Phoenix liked laying in bed afterwards, sticky and sweaty and smelly; Miles remembered chiding him about how disgusting it was, and felt another stab of misery-- now, such action would be welcomed. He shivered even though he wasn't quite sure why, and he pulled the sheets over himself, longing for his visitor to leave.

He could hear his mobile phone ring, and he ignored it. He hadn't even bothered to pack sleeping tablets-- some Halcion right now could ease things, bade him off into a beautiful slumber where this whole situation and his Phoenix-related fuckup could be forgotten for a few hours, before he'd have to drag himself, sore and tired and disappointed, back to the airport.

Kristoph emerged from the bathroom, as smartly dressed as he had been when he appeared in the hotel room. He looked at Miles, staring at him from the bed, and unbuttoned a sleeve, and checked his watch.

"I have time," he said.

 _For what?_

But he was the type of man who knew what Miles would be thinking, and was more than happy to answer his own questionable statement.

"I have a date elsewhere," he said.

Miles' mouth hung open in horror. He wasn't surprised; the blonde probably had dozens of dates lined up. 

"Oh." 

"I shall take my leave now."

Miles nodded, and watched as he walked to the door, opened it, and then disappeared into the corridor. Not even a goodbye. Not even a thankyou. Not even the suggestion that they meet up and do this again sometime.

Not that he wanted one.

  
It was about half an hour later when he decided to get out of bed, to walk to the bathroom and have a shower of his own.

 

 

Kristoph emerged back at the Wright Anything Agency refreshed and smug and pleased with himself.

It made Phoenix suspicious; his hair was wet and he seemed to have been  _doing something_. Drinking? Possibly, from the wide smile on his face which was not like his regular, serene sort of smile. There was something positively gleeful about him, like he had some sort of good news, some  _surprise_  to talk about. 

"Are you ready to go out?" Kristoph asked. "I did promise I'd give you a night on the town, too." The serene smile had returned. "It's hardly fair that _I_ get to have all the fun."

Phoenix nodded. It was too easy, like watching a child's face light up. Kristoph found him wondering if he'd ever made that expression because of Miles and a cold, hardened glare cut through him. 

"I'll just get my phone," he said. He sounded puzzled and bothered. "I thought he'd at least  _call back._ "

"And who was that?" Kristoph asked. He sounded as though he were asking a five year old how their day at school had been.

"No one," Phoenix uttered coldly. "No one important." He turned to Kristoph and gave him a big smile. "Thankyou for being such a huge support around here lately."

There was a curious, not quite desperate, but almost resigned look in his eyes, the kind of how-can-I-repay-you,-will-intimacy-do? gaze.

Kristoph blinked, and smiled warmly. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You're worth it." He looked at the door. "Now let's go have a drink."

They didn't go to the Borscht Bowl. They headed to the Gatewater, for a night out. The Borscht was too...  _familiar_ , Kristoph had said. Too common. Too close to the bone. Phoenix nodded and smiled to himself, taking Kristoph's hand to his lips and kissing the very tips of his fingers.

 

"Let's not spend all night on the town," he said in a low murmur which left nothing to the imagination.

 

* * *

When Miles reached down to stop his phone from beeping at him, irritatingly reminding him that someone had bothered calling-- and then sending him a text message, his hand brushed against something in the darkness. A piece of paper, it seemed. He switched the light on next to him and looked at it; things had evidently fallen out of his guest's pocket during their-- well,  _lovemaking_  wasn't the right word, and  _fucking_  sounded too crass.

There was a scrunched up tissue. There was a small card, for the Wright Anything Agency. His heart skipped a beat; had this ever been...  _his_? How had it found its way here? 

He turned it over-- the message, in that familiar scrawl on the back--  _Here's My Number._  The phone number he'd been trying earlier that evening, which Phoenix wasn't responding to. 

He thought of the blonde briefly mentioning Phoenix. He wondered why he'd known so much; it appeared that the answer had made itself clear.

 

When he saw a missed phone call, and then a text message from his former friend, former lover, and former attorney, he deleted them without a second glance and with no regrets.

  



End file.
